Speak to Me
by bluesargent
Summary: -'Because if you'd have told her, she might have felt the same and you'd be happy and she'd be alive.' Severus is left wondering about what could possibly have been the best night of his entire teenage life. One-shot


**Because I'd wait forever if I could hear your Voice Again**

**Disclaimer: J.K Rowling owns all characters mentioned. She even owns Snape's feelings for Lily. And Lily's obliviousness to it all. Not me.**

_Tell you what, darling_  
><em>Turn down the light<em>  
><em>Turn down the bed<em>  
><em>Go on, turn down these voices<em>  
><em>They're inside my head<em>  
><em>Lay down with me<em>  
><em>Go on, tell me no lies, no lies<em>  
><em>Just hold me close<em>  
><em>And don't patronize me<em>  
><em>Don't patronize me<em>

_- I can' make you love me - Bon iver_

She was just so plainly _Lily_. She was all bouncing red hair and gleaming emerald eyes that looked so intently at you, it would have been impossible not to fall deeply, irreversibly in love with her.

You're walking from the park to her house, it's the summer before your fifth year; the year that _every_thing changed. But right then, in the post-rain sunlight, walking next to a bare-footed Lily, you were happy. She was talking at a mile a minute, ranting about whatever had annoyed her that morning - you're not really listening that intently. Just being in her presence sent a thrill through you, as if she was a walking voltage charge and by being too close you could be electrocuted.

". . . Tunney really needs to stop being such a cow about it, really. I mean, Vernon's happy about it; and we all that he isn't really happy with anyth-" She stopped short and you shot her a questioning look. "Smell that, Severus," she said excitedly, inhaling heavily and closing her eyes. "Smell it." And so you follow suit, inhaling the damp smell from the rain. "I _love_ that smell. Don't you?" Her eyes snapped open and they looked at you questioningly.

You let out a laugh. "It smells damp," you commented dryly. Lily smiled thoughtfully.

"To you, maybe. To me it smells almost magical, Severus," she said, exhaling. "You know it was raining when I received my admission letter to Hogwarts, but then the sun decided to make an appearance. I remember sitting in the back garden and just wanting to remember that smell." She paused to look at you, you were looking at her with a funny expression. One caught between awe and confusion. "Magical."

And you simply, kind-of smiled. She had left you speechless. Again.

Unknowingly - to you, anyway - you had stopped. She grabbed your hand and you couldn't help but revel in the skin on skin contact with her. "Let's dance," she whispered, biting her lip and looking up at you with wide eyes.

You wanted to say no - to at least tell her that it was rapidly getting darker and you both needed to get home soon. But you didn't; she looked too happy. So you placed your hand on her waist, she followed by placing her hand onto your shoulder. Even through her t-shirt and jacket, you could feel her warmth.

Her shoes dropped to the ground with a small _thump_ as they hit the concrete, But Lily didn't notice, so you pretended you didn't, either. You weren't the best dancer, but you tried. She simply laughed it off when you stood on her feet. Three times.

You wondered if it's time to tell her about something that was buried inside of you, something that almost haunted you but definitely filled you unquestionable joy; something dark and powerful and mystifying. But you were too scared, because she was a Gryffindor and would never get caught up in something so twisted. But you couldn't help it. This new group starting terrified you into wonder, made you think in a new light – and you loved it.

You wondered if she'd remember your little dance in the middle of a street, the road still damp from the precipitation from earlier. The smell of her hair in your nostrils, the way you kept stepping on each other's feet. The laughter and happiness and that sinking feel you got whenever you knew a memory like this would always remain just that, a distant memory.

Now you wonder if you should have told her then. And maybe if you did she would have reincorporated your feelings. You want to know whether you'd still be a bitter man crossed between loyalty and fear.

You look at her son and think about the possibility that he could not have existed if you'd have told his mother about your feelings. You into his eyes and feel a deep, burning regret about the unspoken words that were on your tongue that night, because if you'd have told her, she might have felt the same and you'd be happy and she'd be _alive._


End file.
